A Dream of Me
by TheOtherWillow
Summary: Liz’s vision doesn’t come soon enough to stop Michael’s motorcycle wreck, and even after the damage is healed he remains in a coma. Will Michael be trapped in his own mind forever? POLAR
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Dream of Me

Author: TheOtherWillow  
Disclaimer: Roswell and its characters are not mine. They belong to Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, and the WB. No infringement is intended.  
Rating: E

Pairing: Polar  
Summary: Liz's vision doesn't come soon enough to stop Michael's motorcycle wreck, and even after the damage is healed he remains in a coma. Will Michael be trapped in his own mind forever?

Part One: To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

"Why won't he let me in?!" Isabel sobbed hysterically against her brother's shoulder.

Liz stared, transfixed by the errant streak of dark crimson staining her friend's cheek, as Max embraced the frantic girl in helpless sympathy. Watching her boyfriend desperately try to comfort his weeping sister, she cursed her unpredictable powers for not giving them more warning. Though she supposed she should be grateful; while the vision may not have come soon enough to avoid Michael's tire blow out and subsequent wreck in the desert, at least it happened in time for them to prevent his bleeding to death in the middle of nowhere. But as glad as she was that she'd been able to convince Max and Isabel to let her navigate them to the scene of his crash, when she looked down she still had Michael's blood on her hands.

The physical damage the brooding alien had sustained was so great it took the combined strength of Max and Isabel's abilities to heal, but it was now more than six hours later and Michael was still showing no sign of awakening. They'd tried the healing stones once they reached his apartment, but the crystalline rocks had stayed stubbornly dark. It seemed that, as far as his body was concerned, Michael was perfectly fine. He just wasn't waking up.

Isabel had spent hours trying to dreamwalk him, only to find the confines of his psyche encased in solid walls of mental force. The tall girl confessed that she hadn't been in her other brother's dreams since the whole destiny fiasco with Tess and, in the meantime, Michael had somehow insured that no one entered his head without permission. Liz wondered distantly if she could get him to teach her how he did it.

Liz fiddled uselessly with one of the healing stones while the sound of Max attempting to soothe Isabel rustled in her ears. Her attention was snagged by the red brown of dried blood caked beneath her fingernails as she twisted the gem-like rock, and she launched herself toward the bathroom as the nauseating memory of holding Michael's entrails in place while his siblings sterilized and sealed the wound flashed before her eyes. She made it to the restroom just in time, dropping to her knees in front of the commode to retch futilely against the sharp burn of stomach acid. She'd thrown up everything she'd eaten today hours ago. They all had.

The water from the tap had a hard, chlorinated taste, but it was heaven going down her parched throat. The sound of Max's voice calling her from the living room dragged her away the faucet. "I'll be right there," she called as she leaned her head against the cool glass of the mirror. The moist heat from her breath swiftly fogged the quicksilver surface. After pulling away, she wiped the small circle of condensation off with the towel she'd used to dry her hands. Dark eyes ringed with worry stared out from her reflection. "He'll be okay," she told herself, quietly but firmly. "He's got to be."

Isabel's strident tone prompted her from the other room, "Liz! Hurry up! Max has an idea!"

She dropped the towel back on the rack and hurried into the living room. Max looked up at her as he scooped the healing stone she'd dropped in her race to the lavatory from the floor. Isabel knelt next to Michael at the foot of the couch, practically bouncing in excitement as Liz approached.

"I really think this will work," she told the shorter Evans animatedly as he handed her one of the stones.

"What will work?" Liz asked as she moved to stand beside Max.

The blonde turned feverishly bright eyes to her brother's girlfriend, "I didn't have enough energy to get past Michael's walls. Max thought that if you two helped me; boosted your abilities with the healing stones and then added your strength to mine, we'd have enough power break through."

An icy spike of warning raced up the small brunette's spine as she was passed an amber stone. "Um, but I'm not an alien..." she said, desperately trying to stall for time until she could figure out why this suggestion felt like such a bad idea.

Armed with a workable plan, Isabel wasn't about to let anyone stand in the way. "SO?" she demanded pointedly. "Need I remind you exactly who had the vision that led us to Michael in the first place?"

"Right," Liz said distractedly as she struggled to put her finger on what about this idea bothered her. She looked over at the comatose young man on the couch and suddenly it hit her. "Did you try just _asking_ Michael to let you in?

Isabel looked at her like she was insane. Rolling her eyes, the ice queen said condescendingly as she rose from her crouch, "Obviously, you don't understand how this works. I don't need permission..."

"_Obviously_, you do," the dark haired teenager interrupted derisively. "At least with Michael."

The two girls had begun to circle each other angrily when Max stepped in. "This isn't helping," he said as he raised his arms between them. Turning to his sister, he said, "We'll try Liz's idea first."

"We're wasting time!" Isabel screeched as she clenched her fists in frustration. "Max, you can't-"

"Isabel!" Max barked commandingly.

The tall blonde growled out through gritted teeth, "Fine." Dropping to her knees next to Michael once again, she placed her fingertips against his head. "Let's get this over with." Liz and Max watched her for a second before she snarled at them imperiously, "WELL? What are you two waiting for?! If we're doing this, we're doing it together!"

Glancing at each other quickly, the pair scrambled to join Isabel next to Michael's head.

The smooth facets of the healing stone pressed into her palm as Liz settled the fingers of her free hand against the unconscious boy's temple. Soft wisps of hair brushed her skin as the steady thudding of his pulse throbbed beneath her fingertips. Taking a deep breath while she closed her eyes, she concentrated on the essence of the being she knew as Michael Guerin. How would she find him? Who was he to her?

Stubborn Michael, who stood up for what he believed in. Impatient Michael, who didn't wait for someone else's okay when he thought he was right. Loyal Michael, who came to Las Cruces without telling Max because she and Maria might need him. Michael: the boyfriend, the brother.

The friend.

Late nights at the Crashdown, bantering back and forth as they finished cleaning. The comfort of his arms around her when Max had been taken. That small smile he'd given her after returning her journal, and the words that accompanied it. That final image was the one that had most linked itself to his name in her heart of hearts.

"_Michael."_ She pushed the soft whisper of her mental call towards the soul of the man she felt just beyond her reach. _"It's me, Liz. Let me in? We're worried about you..."_

Vertigo struck her like a hammer, and the world spun around her. Clutching her forehead against the dizziness, she opened her eyes and gasped at the sight that greeted her.

She was no longer in Michael's apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two: The Most Beautiful of Dreams

She blinked in astonishment and gaped in confusion at what met her eyes. Instead of the ratty walls of Michael's government subsidized living room, she found herself standing in the back of an upscale reception hall. Chandeliers sparkled with soft light and all around her people she recognized mixed and mingled happily throughout the cavernous room.

Copies of her friends frolicking on the dance floor caught her attention and, by their attire, it was obvious that they were part of a wedding party. The crowd between them shifted and she gasped when she saw Maria being swung around the floor by an uncoordinated Alex.

"Oh god," she choked, raising a hand to cover her lips as tears shined in her eyes. "Alex..."

She watched her two dearest friends cavort around the dance floor for several long minutes, but she couldn't bring herself to move any closer. It wasn't really Alex. She knew that, but it soothed her heart to watch the pair of them have the opportunity they'd never get in real life, the chance to dance together on Maria's wedding day.

Wait.

She frowned thoughtfully as she realized that, like Isabel, Maria was wearing the pale ice blue of a bridesmaid's dress. She'd assumed, since this was Michael's mind, that if he was dreaming of marriage, even in light of their recent breakup, Maria would be the bride. Was it even Michael's wedding? She did a quick head count.

Maria and Alex where dancing next to Isabel and Kyle at the front of the ballroom. Max had left the dancing and was now sitting at a nearby table having an animated discussion with Jim Valenti and Amy Deluca. But where was Michael? Or her doppelganger for that matter?

She explored the room with her eyes, turning in a slow circle while she searched for the missing members of their party. Behind her was a full length window, looking out onto the darkened fields of the New Mexico desert. The clean glass surface reflected the contents of the room like a mirror and she stopped in shock and stared, stunned by what it showed her:

She was the bride.

She wondered for a moment if maybe there was some mistake; if somehow, she had stepped into another character's role when she entered the dream. But when she moved closer to study the reflection, it quickly became obvious that wasn't the case. Her mother's antique locket, a family heirloom, hung heavy against the base of her throat. White orchids twined in her hair beneath a full length veil of Spanish lace that had once belonged to her grandmother. Against the creamy silk sheath of her gown, a wedding ring gleamed brightly with diamonds and sapphires. She wondered if some strange kind of amalgamation of her and Michael's brains had created this vision; while the veil and necklace were straight out of her childhood fantasies, the gown and ring were wildly different from anything she might have imagined. She found herself surprised by how positive the difference was.

"There you are." She turned at the sound of Michael's voice, warmed by tones she'd never heard him direct at anyone but Maria before.

The dark lines of his suit, subtly different from the matching ones Kyle, Alex, and Max wore, removed the last vestige of doubt from her mind. Michael was the groom; this was _their _wedding. Only one question remained. Was she really who he'd imagined as the bride?!

"Michael," she began as he closed the distance between them and slid his arms around her. "It's me, Liz."

He gave her an odd look and chuckled as he nuzzled the soft waves of her hair, "Woman, if I don't know who you are by now, we've got serious problems." She stood in unresisting shock as he laced their fingers together and brought their joined hands up to his chest. The glimmering of gems on his wedding band shined in complement to hers.

"C'mon. The Wedding Nazi has decreed it's time for our first dance." A swift jerk of his head toward the stage drew her attention to the sight of Isabel, standing now with folded arms and tapping her foot impatiently. He drew her out towards the floor, and she studied the parade of friends and family applauding their progress as they passed. The sight of Max and Alex, standing side by side and clapping as she approached with her 'husband', lent the scene a particularly surreal air.

The lights around them dimmed as they reached the center of the dance floor, and a spotlight fixed itself on their position. The corners of Michael's mouth twitched at her incredulous expression when the soft crooning of Etta James singing At Last filled the room.

"Told ya we shouldn't have let my sister pick the music," he smirked as their bodies fell unconsciously into the classic slow dancing position. The smooth glide of his palm against her bare back urged her closer. He bent and pressed soft lips against her forehead as he murmured, "This is the only dance you're getting out of me, better make it good." She felt the teasing stretch of his smile grow against her skin.

She leaned back from him slightly as they swayed to the music and shook her head to clear it. "We're dreaming, Michael," she whispered as she stared up into his eyes, reminding herself why she was there and trying to convince him all in a single breath.

"Dreaming?" He said with a grin as he cupped her cheek with his palm. "Then I guess I'd better do this before we wake up, huh?"

She tilted her head in perplexity and parted her lips to say his name just in time for him to take it as an invitation to capture her mouth. The room spun around her as her eyes slid shut and she lost herself in the unexpected kiss.

When Michael's dupe had kissed her last year it had felt like an invasion; all hard teeth and groping hands. If she had ever thought about what it would be like to kiss Michael before, she might have expected it to be the same. But oh, how wrong would she have been!

Michael kissed like slow seduction, every brush of his mouth a teasing promise. The questioning sweep of his tongue against her lips found her opening to him before she could reconsider, and she moaned as that warm velvet dipped inside to stroke the inner recesses of her mouth. He was dark chocolate and bitter coffee against her palate, swirled with the hot spice of his favorite condiment even as he consumed her.

He pulled back just enough to begin painting a line of kisses across her cheek and down her throat, the tender nips against the delicate skin robbing her of all reason and logic. The room was strangely silent around them and she slowly began to realize that they were no longer surrounded by a crowd in the middle of a reception hall. The dream had shifted and she opened her eyes to find the solid warmth of Michael's body blanketing her as they rolled around on a massive bed. The feel of his strong hands caressing down the sides of her body snapped her free of her inertia. Pushing him away from her, she noticed that in the transition he'd somehow lost half his tux. Only his slacks and the crisp linen of his dress shirt, unbuttoned now to the waist, remained.

She shove against his chest to force him further back and the bare skin beneath her palms sent tingling shocks of warmth racing through her veins. He stared down at her, armed with a heavy lidded, smoky gaze and a teasing half smile she'd seen aimed her way dozens of times before. The black fire of arousal darkening his eyes transformed what she had always considered a friendly expression into something that burned; white hot tongues of flame raging in her blood as he lowered himself to claim her mouth again.

In a burst of strength she didn't know she possessed, she threw him off her and launched herself out of the bed. "MICHAEL, no!" she panted as she backed away.

He gawked up at her in surprise, "Liz, wha-"

"This is a dream," she interrupted firmly. "This is a dream and I'm waking up NOW."

The room abruptly began to twist in on itself, the colors melting together like a kaleidoscope. Back in Michael's apartment, Liz jerked herself away from his prone form with a startled yelp.

"Oh god," she moaned helplessly as the walls seemed to careen wildly around her. Dropping to her knees to help combat the nausea, she took shallow breaths while she waited for the dizziness to pass. Slowly the room began to right itself.

"Liz?" Max's query tore her attention away from the mottled carpet. Raising her head, she found herself flanked by the Evans. Her boyfriend stared down at her in concern, "What happened?"

She shook her head weakly, incapable of verbalizing what she'd experienced and particularly reluctant to share it with her present company.

"He let you in," Isabel stated flatly from her shoulder. Liz nodded feebly and the blonde continued. "He let you in and he ignored us, his family. Why would he do that?"

"I-I don't know," the shaking girl stuttered, unable to meet the other's glare.

Isabel's eyes narrowed. "Well, where is he? Did you find him? Why didn't you bring him out?"

Leveling herself off the floor, Liz took a deep breath before answering. "Yes I found him. I wasn't expecting…what I found…and I panicked. Tell me how to bring him back with me and I'll try it again."

Max slid an arm around her shoulders and tried to joke, "Nothing too horrifying in there, I hope. Who knows what horrors lurk in the mind of Michael!"

The petite brunette glared at him and slipped free of the grip. "Nothing horrifying; just surprising. I know what to expect now, so it shouldn't be a problem." Turning back to the other girl she demanded, "How do I bring him out of it?"

"Concentrate your will," the blonde alien replied. "In the dream world, things have power because we give them power. Designate a door or an archway as the portal home and it becomes what you believe it to be."

The dark haired teen nodded decisively in understanding and stepped back toward the couch. Just before her fingertips could graze Michael's temples, Isabel's voice commanded her attention, "Don't make us come in after you."

Looking up to meet the tall girl's worried gaze, she smiled reassuringly. "I won't." Her fingers brushed Michael's forehead and, in a dizzying whirl, reality faded away.

* * *

Author's Notes & Sources

1. The dress Michael envisioned Liz in is by Pronovias and is called Bosque (not that I expect him to know that). See it here: http://im1. 


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three: The Worst of Nightmares

She opened her eyes back inside the dream and was startled to find the honeymoon suite devoid of Michael. She wondered how long she'd been gone as she scanned the room with her eyes. Before she could begin to panic, a gruff voiced wafted over her shoulder.

"Behind you."

She turned and found the man in question lounging in a chair tucked into the darkest corner of the room, cradling a tumbler of whiskey.

"Michael…" she began, but he cut her off.

"I know. I'm dreaming," he snapped before taking a huge gulp of the amber liquid swirling in his grasp.

"How…" she started, but he interrupted her again.

"You disappearing and reappearing like that was a pretty good hint. When I couldn't remember how we got from the reception hall to the room, the rest of pieces came together." He took a long pull of the seemingly bottomless glass. "Since you just got a front row seat for all that," he waved the alcohol in a lazy circle as if to encompass the room, their attire, and the reception, "and I'm pretty sure by now that you're the real Liz, while I'm still dreaming I thought I'd drink a little."

"Michael, it's okay," she said helplessly, unsure of what to say to make his obvious embarrassment less of a blow.

"Maybe you should drink a little," he replied with a bitter laugh. He wearily rubbed a hand against his eyes and asked, "Could you...not…be dressed like that?"

She frowned at him. "Is there something else for me to change into?

"Dream, Parker." he sneered at her, and with a wave of his hand the half demolished tux he was wearing melted into the t-shirt and jeans he had on in the real world. "You want to change something, you make it happen."

She looked away from his condescending smirk and ignored his request to gaze down at the gown gracing her body. "It's gorgeous," she whispered as she fingered the intricate lace detailing that clung to the fabric riding low on her hips. As a little girl, she had always imagined a mountainous confection of layered satin and tulle for her wedding dress. The simple silk sheath hugging her form made those dreams seem infantile. Had she actually gone wedding dress shopping, she would never have been brazen enough to pick this gown, with its low cut back and clinging fabric, to try on, but somehow it just FIT. Not just physically, though that was true enough, but psychologically. It fit with the woman she wanted to be. Unpretentious. Elegant. Sexy. A woman to be desired and coveted, not some childish fantasy of Barbie's Dream Wedding. Recalling her reflection in the window at the reception, her hand raised to stroke the locket at her throat, "My mother's necklace, my grandmother's mantilla veil…how did you know?"

Michael squirmed uncomfortably, "You brought them to Show and Tell once."

She gaped at him in shock, "That was in the fifth grade!"

He glared back at her, "Yeah, well; I'm observant."

She reached up to remove the veil and her fingers brushed against the white blossoms laced throughout her hair. She plucked a loose flower out as she tugged the veil free from her tresses. "I would have expected roses, but…I love the orchids," she murmured to herself as she toyed with the bloom's waxy petals.

"White roses are too plebeian," he muttered challengingly as he took another sip.

"That doing anything for you?" she asked as she lay the veil and flower down and sat across from him on the bed.

"I wish," he replied with a disgusted sigh as he tossed the remainder of the drink to the side. He took a deep breath before standing and said, "Okay, how do we get out of here?"

She rose from her seat, focusing her will to create an exit as Isabel had directed, and gestured to the suite's door. "Just step through there and you'll be back in the real world."

"Great," he snarled depreciatively. He took a couple steps forward before pausing to turn to her. "Look, this never happened. You don't mention it, I don't mention it. Deal?"

She studied him for a long minute before responding, "I'll agree if you answer one question."

"Depends on what it is," he growled back.

She reached forward to catch his left hand with hers and brought them both up to her eye level. In front of her, their 'wedding' rings gleamed with a bright platinum shine. She was more than a little surprised that he hadn't banished this raw reminder of what she'd witnessed when he'd changed his clothes, but she was glad for the opportunity to study the set side by side. The rings really were striking together; the diamond solitaire flanked by sapphires that twinkled like little stars gracing her hand perfectly complemented the simple band alternating evenly spaced white and blue gems that rested on his.

He looked uncomfortably down at their interlaced fingers before rumbling, "What about them?"

Her eyes bore into his as she asked quietly, "Why sapphires?" Knowing that Michael did nothing without what he considered a good reason; she couldn't contain her curiosity at his choice of symbolism for something as important to him as wedding rings.

He slid his hand out of her grip and headed toward the exit. Reaching out to twist the handle, he called over his shoulder without turning as he opened the door, "For loyalty."

The dream disintegrated around them as Michael stepped over the threshold.

Author's Notes & Sources

The following Michael dialogue is borrowed from Lt. Daniel Kaffee's dialogue in A Few Good Men:

My version  
Michael: "…while I'm still dreaming I thought I'd drink a little"Liz: "Michael, its okay."  
Michael: "Maybe you should drink a little."

The Original  
Kaffee: "Anyway, since we seem to be out of witnesses, I thought I'd drink a little."  
Galloway: "I still think we can win."  
Kaffee: "Then maybe you should drink a little."


	4. Chapter 4

Spoiler Warning This is a revised version of episode 3x05 Control. Dunno if this'll make any sense if you haven't seen that ep, and if you have you're gonna be sitting there saying, "Hey wait! That's not how that went!" To which I reply, "Yep. I know. I like my way better."

Part Four: Short As Any Dream

Liz was beginning to wonder what it was about her that made it so easy for alien men to avoid her.

In the week that followed Michael's wreck, she could count on one hand with fingers remaining the number of times she'd seen either member of the male contingent of the local Czech population. Considering that she worked with one of them and went to school with both, that was quite the feat of tactical maneuvering.

Michael at least she understood; she had seen things he'd never meant to share, and he wasn't ready to deal with her yet. Completely understandable, and besides, he wouldn't be able to rearrange the shift schedules forever. But Max didn't even have that excuse. The quest for his son was quickly consuming his life and, while she understood his single minded dedication, it just served to highlight exactly how removed from one another the two of them had become.

Her boyfriend was in LA. She hadn't seen him in four days, or spoken to him in two. He'd promised to call her last night, and then didn't. Instead, he'd called his sister. It hadn't even occurred to him to ask Isabel to let her know he was okay; if she hadn't phoned the Evans girl in a panic after not hearing from Max, she wouldn't even have known if he was alive. The realization of exactly how low she fell on his priority scale was a sickening revelation.

She had made him her world. From the moment she'd been shot, everything in her universe had centered on Max Evans. Every decision she had made since was done with him in mind. She gave, she sacrificed. She'd lied and broken laws. And for what? A man who couldn't be bothered the pick up the phone when she called.

Things had been bad for so long, she was beginning to forget why she was with him in the first place. She'd tried to convince herself that everything she endured was worth it because they were in love, but if she was honest with herself, she couldn't say that she was _in love _with him anymore. He'd become a major part of her life, and she would always love him, but after more than a year of murder and betrayal, infidelity and alien babies, she couldn't truthfully say anymore that she was in love with him. In fact, at this point, she wasn't sure she even remembered what that felt like.

She'd tried so hard to ignore what her heart was telling her. After everything that had happened, it seemed somehow almost sacrilegious to admit she no longer felt the same way about him. Max Evans and Liz Parker were soulmates. Wasn't that one of the immortal truths of reality? So she'd thrown herself into the role of girlfriend, desperate to convince everyone (but most importantly, herself) that everything was fine. Though she had to admit, she'd been overcompensating more than a little when she baked him those cookies.

It wasn't until she'd taken Maria's advice and tried unsuccessfully to call him that she'd finally admitted it to herself:

What she'd once felt for Max Evans was dead.

The realization was shattering. It remade the face of her entire existence. For so long, she'd been defining herself by what other people needed from her; waitress, best friend, girlfriend. The prospect of casting off the cage of what was expected from her was dizzying, terrifying. _Freeing._

She hadn't been able to fully comprehended how chained she'd felt until she let it all go. For the first time since the fateful day of the shooting, she could breath again. She could finally admit to herself that, as worried as she was about Max on this trip to LA, she hadn't really missed him.

The quiet swish of her broom resounded in the empty café as she cleaned. Normally, the Crashdown would be filled with boisterous conversation as she and Michael closed up, but Jose had taken his shift and had to leave early. She gave the ground another melancholy swipe with the bristles. Setting the broom aside, she picked some trash off the floor and tossed it in the bin.

She mused on the irony as she left the kitchen for the dinning area. While four days with no Max was academically worrisome, a shift without Michael's unruly commentary was downright depressing. She hadn't realized until he started avoiding her how much of her everyday happiness revolved around Michael and his sarcasm. Whether it was lunch in the quad with the group, snide little asides when she passed him in the hall at school, or over the counter quips as she picked up her orders; no matter what the situation, he always seemed to know just what say to coax a smile out of her. She felt his absence like a great whole in the center of her day. How exactly had that happened? When had Michael's presence in her life become so pivotal?

Movement caught her eye at the front of the Crashdown and she froze when she recognized Max's figure through the glass. She stood expectantly as he pushed open the door and stepped inside. He stalled at the entry way and stared at her.

"Hi," she said finally, unable to cope with the silence.

"Hi," he echoed back.

"When did you get back?" she prompted when he seemed unwilling to continue.

Max gestured with a twist of his neck toward the door, "Just now." Slowly, he began to cross the room to her.

Her head shook in negation before she could stop it. "You didn't call."

He continued to move forward, begging her understanding with his eyes. "I was driving all night. I-I just had to get back to see you." Max paused at the unyielding expression on her face, "I-I'm sorry."

She shook her head sadly as she looked at him, regret painting her face as she prepared to share her newborn epiphany, "You can't do this, Max."

Raising his hand protectively to his stomach as a queasy feeling of apprehension curdled inside him, the teen edged closer, "I didn't mean to…"

She nodded her head decisively. She knew he didn't mean to. He never meant to, but somehow it still happened. What he didn't yet know was that she no longer felt obligated to oblige him. "But you did," she stated simply.

He stopped warily an arm's length away from her, one hand raising entreatingly to her for a long moment before falling back to his side at her unsympathetic expression. "Liz, I know you've been here, alone, waiting for me, and...And I've..." He took a deep breath and began again, pleadingly, "It was wrong. I-" His steps carried him forward, reaching for her as she woodenly watched him approach.

She knew this was the point where the old Liz would have gushed with sympathy and understanding. Where she would forgive him, regardless of the offense, and do her best to make him feel better. But when she looked inside herself now, the wellspring of pity she once held for the man in front of her had run dry. "Max," she said slowly, firmly. The dark haired figure before her leaned back against the counter and watched dejectedly as she continued, "What happened?"

His eyes turned away from her as he fought back tears, "I failed. And my son... He's up there somewhere." His desperate gaze slid back to her. "I've just messed everything up. Langley's life. Yours." His chin began to tremble as he drew her to him, "I'm so sorry, Liz," he cried as he wrapped his arms around her. "I'm so sorry."

She waited for that moment when his pain would melt the wall of ice around her heart, but it never came. Did she feel bad that he felt bad? Yes. But no more so than she would if it were Maria or Kyle who were unhappy. It was official; Max's place in her emotions had been relegated to that of a dear friend. She patted him once consolingly on the shoulder before slipping carefully out of his hold. "I'm sorry too, Max," she said quietly.

Panic filled his heart as she pulled away from him. "Liz?"

The fear on his face made her ache, but did nothing to change her mind. Now that she was decided, there was nothing left to do but push forward. Like removing a band aide, some forms of self-inflicted pain are best done quickly. "I can't do this anymore," she told him resolutely as she crossed her arms to prove her point and tilted her chin up to him defiantly.

A sob tore free of his throat as he grasped what she was saying. He didn't believe it was possible, she was the one constant he had! "I'll never leave you, Liz," he wept, frantic to reassure her of her place in his life.

"You won't have to, Max," she told him sadly. "I'm leaving you."

He gaped at her in disbelief for a long minute before exploding, "NO! You can't!" He moved in a flash, hands wrapping around her upper arms to shake her. "We belong together! Don't you see that?! We're soulmates!!!"

"Max!" she yelped as she struggled against his iron grip. "Are you crazy? What are you doing, let me go!"

He hauled her against his chest, unthinkingly lifting her up on her tiptoes to force her to meet his eyes. "Why are you doing this to me, Liz?" he demanded as his fingers ground painfully into her flesh. "Don't you know I need you!"

She met his hysterical gaze with peaceful eyes, "I know you do. And you'll still have me, as a friend."

"That's not good enough!" he growled as he launched her away from him. Unable to catch her balance at the sudden move, Liz toppled to the floor. Max's hands glowed as he loomed over her.

She stared up at him fearlessly, "It's going to have to be. It's all I have left to give you."

His hands curled into fists at his sides as he snarled, "No!" Glassware all around the room exploded in a rain of transparent shrapnel.

Liz covered her face instinctively and cried out in pain as tiny pieces of shattered glass pierced her skin.

"Oh god," Max gasped, horrified by his actions. Rivulets of crimson wept from the arms of the girl at his feet. "Liz-" he choked as he moved forward to help her.

"Stay away from me!" she screeched as she tried to scuttle away from him, slivers of broken glass digging into her palms as she desperately attempted to crawl backwards.

"What the HELL?!" Max had an instant to process Michael's startled roar before finding himself thrown across the room in a flash of light.

"Michael!" Liz wept gratefully from the floor, and Max's heart twisted painfully at the expression of undiluted joy and relief she shined at his brother.

Dragging himself from the wreckage of the table Michael had tossed him into, the deposed king watched as the taller boy efficiently cleared the broken glass with a wave of his hand and briskly began assessing the shaken girl's injuries.

Liz trembled in Michael's careful hands as he helped her up from the floor. She'd never been so happy to see anyone in her whole life. Warmth crawled across her skin as he systematically healed her cuts. Long fingers nudged her chin up and she couldn't help but smile at the first glimpse she'd had of his face in a week.

"Get any in your eyes?" He asked brusquely as he traced the soft skin of her cheeks, searching for injuries. She shook her head no and he smirked at her, "This is what I get for switching with Jose. Can't leave you alone for a minute, can I, Parker?"

She laughed feebly and sank into his arms before he could stop her. Michael froze down to a cellular level at the feel of her soft body pressed into his. His arm curled around her shoulders and he held her to him protectively as he processed the sound of Max climbing free of the debris on the other side of the room. He faced his brother with a hand upraised menacingly.

At the front of the restaurant, Max struggled to his feet. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean – I'm so sorry!"

"What the FUCK were you thinking, Maxwell?!" the scowling young man snarled as he clutched Liz against him defensively.

"I'm sorry," he repeated numbly. "I was so angry. I couldn't control-"

The dark haired young woman slipped free of Michael's grasp and cut him off with a sharp chop of her wrist. "Stop. We're done, Max."

"Liz," he began miserably. "I'm SO sorry. I lo-"

"You don't get to finish that sentence, Max Evans!" She screamed at him as she stomped forward, fists balled at her sides. "You think THIS is LOVE?!" She gestured to the ruined remains of her family's diner, vibrating with her rage.

Max looked around weakly at the devastation he'd caused with his tantrum. "I-I'll fix it."

"No." Michael's voice came sharply from behind Liz. "I'll fix it. Take my bike and go home."

Max instinctively caught the keys the gruff alien tossed his way. He opened his mouth to protest, but closed it with a snap. Tossing the keys back to Michael, he shook his head, "My car's around the corner." He didn't miss how Liz sagged against Michael in relief at his pronouncement. He turned to leave, but couldn't help pausing at the door to look back at the woman who held his soul. "I never meant for it to be this way, Liz," he murmured heartbrokenly.

She stared at him bleakly from the shelter of Michael's side. The soft pressure of his fingers curling around her shoulder was a comforting weight as she watched one chapter of her life come to a heavy close. "No one ever does," she agreed.

Chewing thoughtfully on her lip, she took a deep breath and spoke again. "Don't let this be who you become, Max," she waved at the mess around her. "Things have been so intense for so long, we've all been sort of swept away with it." She searched his eyes, willing him to hear and understand what she was saying, "Take this as an opportunity to remember who you really are."

"And when I do?" he prompted hopefully.

"Then your friends will be waiting for you," she said plainly as she leaned back against Michael's solid, reassuring form.

Max gritted his teeth as he forced himself to accept the reality of what she was saying. His eyes met Michael's over the dark shine of her hair. He sent a silent message to his brother: _Take care of her._

Michael arched an eyebrow in response: _You think you have to ask?_

Max's gaze dropped down to Liz's and, in the face of her scrutiny, he nodded to show that he understood. A relieved smile spread across her face and he managed a weak grin in response.

He took the memory of that smile with him as he walked out the door.

Author's Notes & Sources

1. Dialogue and scene from Roswell episode 3x05 Control used without permission of the Katims, Metz, the WB, or anyone else who could possibly sue me for it. I'm just playing with fire here...

2. A small rant: The original Roswell version of this scene is the very personification of why I can't do Dreamer. He's a self-absorbed asshole. He doesn't call. He was going to leave the flipping PLANET without saying goodbye. And that's okay? Newsflash, Lizzie; it's really not. Grow some self respect, girlie.

3. Yes, I know. Those of you who've read my story Unclosed know that I'm using the Michael-the-Hero angle again. I can't help it, that's my Michael. He can't stand to see his girl abused, and sometimes I feel the need to knock Liz around. shrugs Really, it works out.


	5. Chapter 5

Part Five: Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On

She was having a hard time keeping her eyes off him.

It was driving her to distraction. So far this morning she'd messed up three orders and dropped two plates. She'd chastise herself for her clumsiness and then go back to working, only to knock something else over in a daze again two minutes later. She felt like an idiot, but she couldn't help it; every time she wasn't consciously commanding herself to look elsewhere, her soft gaze would float back to Michael.

He'd been a godsend the night she broke up with Max. She knew there was no way she'd have been able to fix the mess her ex had made of the Crashdown without him. He'd abandoned his tactic of avoidance that night because she needed him and, without a word, stepped in and became her champion. In the weeks that followed, his unceasing support had somehow become essential; as necessary to her as the air that filled her lungs with every trembling breath as she watched him through the pickup window.

She felt like she had never seen him before. For the first time in years, her eyes were open and all she could see was Michael. The way he'd stood by her. The way he'd always believed in her. The way he listened to her with a teasing half smile that had been transformed in her mind by his dream to make her body catch fire. The dream itself and everything it said about how he felt for her. The way she'd realized that she felt about him in return.

It all compiled to make her ache for him in ways she couldn't even verbalize.

She'd been thinking about it for two weeks now, and she was running out of excuses. She knew the fallout from the group would be devastating if she took the course of action that was singing in her blood. It wouldn't matter to Maria that she'd broken up with him; the rules didn't change. Thou shalt not date thy best friend's ex. Isabel would hate her on behalf of her brother and there were even odds that Kyle would follow her lead. And Max? Max would never forgive either of them. Chances were good things would get ugly.

But the longer she watched him toil in the heat of the grill, a wry smirk tossed her way when he caught her watching him again, the more her resistance weakened. This time, instead of nervously turning her eyes away, she met his boldly. He raised an eyebrow questioningly and the smirk deepened as she crossed the room toward him with single minded determination.

"Got an order for me?" he asked, leaning forward through the window as she reached him.

She nodded and tore a slip of paper off her order pad and slid it to him. His fingers brushed hers as he took it, but before he could pull back her grip encircled his wrist. He looked down at her hand and then back up to her eyes questioningly, "I'm gonna need that back if you want me to cook this."

She moved into his space and resolutely looked up at him. Somehow, in the distance between one end of the diner and other, her decision had been made. Time to put the ball in his court. "You're not working at MetaChem after your shift here today, right?"

"Uh, no. Monk needed the hours, so he took my shift," he tilted his head in perplexity at her question. "Why?"

She leaned in closer to him, catching his eyes with hers so he would know exactly what it was she was asking, "Want to go to a movie with me?"

He reared back a little and blinked at her in surprise. Unconsciously, her thumb stroked the inner skin of his wrist soothingly. He looked down at the hand caressing his skin and then back up to her face, staring at her strangely for a long minute before gently pulling his hand free and motioning her back into the kitchen.

She came without question and he yanked the bandana off his head as he turned to her and snapped, "Parker, what do you think you're doing?"

"I know two men," she said quietly in reply as she removed her bobbing antennae headband. "One man doesn't listen when I talk to him. He sees what he wants to when he looks at me and nothing else. To him, I'm this two-dimensional Barbie doll of an ideal woman that he can put on a shelf and take down when he has time for me. There's no room in his world for me to be a real person."

"But the other man..." She looked him fearlessly in the eye as she continued, "The other man knows me. Who I am. What I am, the good and the bad. I don't have to worry about him not paying attention to what I tell him, because he listens so well he even hears the things I don't say. When he looks at me, all he sees is ME, and I think he likes what he sees."

"Parker," he began cautiously, but she silenced him with a finger to his lips. 

"I know everything I need to know about the first man, and he doesn't hold any appeal for me. I'd rather learn who the other man is," her soft touch fell away from his mouth. "I'd rather find out who you are, Michael."

The glowing amber of his gaze burned into her as he searched her eyes for the truth of her words. She found herself unable to breathe as she waited for him to decide if what he found in her was enough. Finally, the stalemate ended with a wicked smile as he tugged her small body against his.

"You're gonna have to buy me dinner if you expect me to put out," he growled laughingly against her hair.

"Oh, really?" she smirked, overwhelmed with relief as she pressed closer and slid teasing hands up his chest. Leaning her head forward, she curled her fingers around the nape of his neck and slowly traced the tip of her nose up the long column of his throat. His eyes slid blissfully shut at her move and she grinned to herself as she rose higher to tempt him with the soft brush of her lips against his earlobe as she whispered. "What does movie theater popcorn get me?" 

He turned his head to face her and rubbed his nose playfully against hers. "That's open for negotiation. Think you can make it worth my time?" he replied with a husky murmur as he bent towards her mouth.

"I'll see what I can do," she purred breathlessly as his lips closed over hers.

She would wonder later, if table six's order hadn't caught fire, how they would have reacted to getting caught by her dad. Fortunately, the blaze forced them apart just in time to avoid any parental censure. And even though her shaggy haired alien's need to change out of his smoky clothes after work had ensured they didn't make it to the movies, Liz wasn't complaining.

Turns out, popcorn with Michael was best enjoyed _without_ an audience.

Fini. 

Author's Notes & Sources 

1. I'm not ready to write smut yet. It's been almost a decade since I wrote any erotica, and I'm still working back up to it. If anyone else wants to write some crazy polar nookie as a tag to this then by all means, be my guest; just let me know so I can read it too!


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